


Call Out

by domesticadventures



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Communication, First Kiss, Fix-It, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s13e07 War of the Worlds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 20:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12848490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticadventures/pseuds/domesticadventures
Summary: “I’ve been calling you,” Dean says once the sound of Sam and Jack’s footsteps disappear down the hallway. He leans with his elbows on the table, rolling his beer between his hands.“I’m sorry,” Cas says. “I would have picked up, but I was otherwise indisposed.”“Yeah, that’s the thing, though. Sometimes, you did pick up.”





	Call Out

**Author's Note:**

> eyyy i finally got around to writing a coda this season. shout out to [kora](http://beenghosting.tumblr.com) for kickass editing as per usual [finger guns]

“Dude, what gives?” Dean says, heart racing, when Cas finally answers his phone. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days.”

“I told you,” Cas says. “I’m--”

“Following an interesting lead. Yeah, I know.” He takes a steadying breath. “You really so busy you can’t text us to, oh, I don’t know, let us know you’re not dead?”

“You know I don’t always get service--”

“I know,” Dean says. “I just.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I guess after everything that happened, I thought something would have changed.”

Cas sighs. “What do you want from me?”

“I dunno. I guess for you to just stick around. For us to work together. For you to stop acting like you’re trying to get away from me as fast as possible.”

“Did it occur to you,” Cas says, “that maybe I have better things to do than cater to your insecurities?”

Dean is still sitting silently, mouth slightly open, when Cas hangs up.

\--

“That doesn’t sound like Cas,” Sam says.

Dean exhales, shoulders sagging. “Yeah, I know, right? Something isn’t adding up, here.”

“No kidding,” Sam says. He drums his fingers against the table. “He goes to get intel from another angel, and somehow that turns into stopping by a demon-infested bar before disappearing for a week?”

“Yeah, not to mention he keeps switching between acting all cagey, completely dodging my calls, and trying to convince me everything’s hunky-dory. That’s weird, even for him. And now--” Dean gestures to his phone-- “this.”

“So he’s...what?” Sam says. “Lying to us to keep us out of danger? Being forced to say everything is fine, keep us off his trail?”

Dean nods absently. “Maybe.”

“By who? Angels? Demons?”

Dean shrugs. “Does it matter? There’s no way this is on the up and up, so seems to me there’s really only one thing for us to do.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam says, nodding. “But where do we even start?”

Dean chews on his lip. He says, “I have an idea.”

\--

Dean tries to remember what she looked like the last time she was in the bunker. He pictures her in the library, perched delicately on a chair, her hair and dress both stunningly bright accents in the brown room. She sits daintily sipping her tea with one eyebrow raised, her pinky in the air--

He snaps his fingers. “Got it.”

Sam trails along behind Dean as he rushes to the kitchen. He throws open the cupboards, rummages through the various cups and mugs until he finds it.

“Dean, what…?”

Dean turns, grinning as he holds out the teacup -- pristinely clean other than a smudge on one side of the rim, a red lipstick stain he couldn’t quite wash off.

“So,” Dean says, as realization dawns on Sam’s face. “Ready to work a spell?”

\--

It’s an unseasonably warm November in south Texas.

They find Rowena on the beach, lounging under an umbrella with a drink in hand. She sighs as they plunk down on either side of her in the sand, peers at them over the top of her oversized sunglasses.

“I suppose we should cut right to the chase,” she says. “What do I get in exchange for whatever favor it is you want from me this time?”

“We need you to find someone even more well hidden than you are,” Dean says. “And then we’ll go on our merry way, and you get to stay here sipping margaritas.”

“We’ll even sweeten the deal by telling you we’re not the only ones looking for you,” Sam adds.

Rowena sighs again. “Faking your own death just isn’t what it used to be,” she says, taking another sip of her drink.

\--

Rowena opens a portal that dumps them out right down the hall from Cas’ cell.

Getting him out is supposed to be a quiet affair. Unfortunately, Dean only gets as far as, “Cas, hey--” before Asmodeus storms in, cadre of demons following behind him.

“Well, well, well,” he says, throwing Dean and Sam back with a flick of his wrist, pinning them against the wall. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a little rescue mission.”

“Let them go,” Cas shouts. The bars burn white-hot as he presses against them, runes flaring, forcing him back.

“Afraid I can’t do that,” Asmodeus says. He tightens his hand into a fist, and as he does so, Dean feels his throat close off. “You see,” he says, grinning as he steps closer, “this was the whole point of keeping you here. Worked like a charm.”

“No!” Cas says, throwing himself uselessly against the bars, smoke rising as he sears his skin on the metal.

Lights flash at the edges of Dean’s vision, everything going dark as the pressure on his throat increases.

And then the pressure in the hallway changes.

“No,” a familiar voice says, and everything goes white.

Dean closes his eyes against the light, and by the time he reopens him, the pressure against his neck has disappeared. He slips down from the wall and falls to his knees, gasping.

“Holy shit,” Sam says from beside him. “Jack.”

Dean looks up just in time to see Jack lowering his hand, the glow fading from his eyes. Asmodeus and his demons -- and the bars of Cas’ cell -- are nowhere to be seen.

A moment later, Jack and Cas are rushing forward to help Sam and Dean to their feet.

“You know what,” Dean says, “I take back every complaint I ever made about a deus ex machina.”

Jack frowns at him. “What?”

“He’s comparing you to God,” Cas explains.

Jack looks between the three of them. “Is that a compliment?”

Cas huffs a laugh. “For once,” he says, “I think it actually is.”

\--

“Well,” Sam says, once the pizza is gone and their conversation has tapered off, “let’s get you settled back into your room.”

“All right,” Jack says, standing as Sam clears the empty boxes from the table. He nods to Dean and Cas. “Good night.”

“Good night, Jack,” Cas says. “It’s good to have you back.”

Jack smiles tentatively. “It’s good to be back,” he says.

“C’mon,” Sam says, turning towards the doorway. “Time for some well deserved rest.” Jack trails behind him, leaving Dean and Cas sitting alone in the kitchen, knees bumping together under the table every time one of them turns in their seat.

“I’ve been calling you,” Dean says once the sound of Sam and Jack’s footsteps disappear down the hallway. He leans with his elbows on the table, rolling his beer between his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says. “I would have picked up, but I was otherwise indisposed.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing, though. Sometimes, you did pick up.”

Cas frowns down at his own drink. After a moment, he says, “Asmodeus.”

“Guess I annoyed him into answering.”

Cas smiles slightly, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “You called a lot, then.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Cas twists his bottle around, picks at the label. “What did you say?” he asks eventually, glancing up at Dean. “When you called?”

Dean shifts in his seat. When his leg bumps against Cas’, he quickly pulls it back. “I mean, I didn’t know, at the time, that it wasn’t you. You were acting pretty weird, even before that. And going off on your own in the first place...I guess I thought that after what happened-- I mean, you died, man. Like for real, all the way dead. And I figured after that you wouldn’t run off without me, or that you’d stick around more, or-- I dunno. I just thought something would have changed.”

Cas considers him for a long moment before he looks away, back down at the table. “I thought something would change, too,” he says quietly.

Dean’s mouth feels suddenly dry. “What do you mean?”

“After what I said. Back in the barn. When I thought I was dying.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “That.” He takes a long drink. As he sets the bottle back down, he says, “Not sure I follow. I mean, you know Sam and I feel the same--”

Cas interrupts him with a sigh. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.” He smiles wryly, gesturing between the two of them. “Actually, this is exactly what I’m talking about.”

Dean takes another drink, clears his throat. He hears shuffling from down the hall; Sam getting ready for bed, maybe, or Jack moving around his room. He takes another sip as he waits for the bunker to settle back into silence. “You, uh,” he starts. “C’mon, man, you know I do, too, right? I mean, I feel, um.”

“No,” Cas says softly. “I don’t.”

“Oh,” Dean says.

Cas takes a deep breath. He looks down at his lap, plucks at the cuff of his new coat. “I didn’t tell you before,” he says, “but the empty looked like me.”

“Okay?”

“He looked like me, and he was...angry. He didn’t want to let me go. He just wanted me to go back to sleep. To give up.”

Dean waits a long moment for Cas to continue, and when he doesn’t, Dean says, “And? What did he do?”

“He tried violence, first.”

Dean tightens his grip on his beer. “And what did he try second?”

Cas is silent for a few long seconds, then he sighs and says, “He threw all my mistakes back in my face. Told me that there was no reason for me to go back. That he knew who I loved, and what I feared, and that there was nothing for me here.”

“Christ,” Dean says.

Cas just shrugs. “It was nothing I hadn’t already told myself. But I decided that even if he was right, I still wanted to come back. I still wanted to be here.”

“You know he was wrong, right?” Dean says, looking up at Cas, meeting his eyes. “There’ll always be a place for you here.”

“I know.”

“But?”

“Like I said. I thought something would have changed.”

Dean swallows hard, ignores his heart hammering in his chest. “Changed how?”

Cas sighs. “If you feel the same, what are you so afraid of, Dean?”

“Of you going off and dying on me again.”

“That might happen, anyway,” Cas says. “That already _did_ happen. So is there something you’re more afraid of than that?”

Dean opens his mouth, closes it again. Tries to figure out what would be worse than Cas dying again; worse than feeling, not for the first time, that he missed his chance.

“You know what?” Dean decides. “Actually, there isn’t.”

Dean leans over and kisses him.


End file.
